


there's something about you

by kuro49



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Bottom Hercules Hansen, Canon Compliant, Deepthroating, Double Penetration, Drabble, Father/Son Incest, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Shower Sex, Sibling Incest, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 05:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2336177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Not that I don’t appreciate toppy!Herc, but bottom!Herc holds a special place in my heart. So here is a collection of bottom!Herc drabbles, pairings will be tagged as posted.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. you are trial, he is error

**Author's Note:**

> Not that I don’t appreciate toppy!Herc, but bottom!Herc holds a special place in my heart. So here is a collection of bottom!Herc drabbles, pairings will be tagged as posted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scott/Herc. Set during their time in Lucky Seven.

They are kind enough to clear out the room for you without you having to ask at all. When Scott peels the circuitry suit off of you, he is deliberate and careful in ways he isn’t with anything else. You feel every touch, and through the ghost drift tangling your head with his, you also feel every intention your brother has for you.

He covers you with his body, pressing your chest against the wall.

You feel the traces of relay gel across his skin like you feel your second kill in your veins. And it clings where he tilts your chin back so he can push his tongue between your lips, pressing two fingers into you as he does.

Keening, low in your throat, he just grins against your mouth.

He only gives you what you are asking for in the spaces of your drift remaining in his head. He doesn’t cross that line, and you don’t push for more. You are glad that you’re different for him than everyone else he’s taken to bed.

There’s nothing to hold on to when he finally fucks you open with just the preparation of three fingers in your ass and the thrum of your shared post-kill adrenaline keeping the both of you still standing. He marks you on the curve of your shoulder with his teeth, and it’s good, this arrangement where drift compatibility has worn away the last of what keeps you from him.

And he from you.     

You learn to remember this comfort for what it is. A memory that shows up brighter in the drift, a good one that you don’t let the things to follow drag through mud.

When he comes in you, you feel it slick and hot inside of you. And when he pulls out, you let him turn you around until he is bracing you with his body once more. Pressing his fingers back into you like he’s itching to connect with you already.

This time, it is you who turns his head down to yours. It is you who finally gets his mouth pressing against yours, pushing between his mouth, your tongue seeking his. He fucks you with his fingers until you’re shaking in his arms, still pressed against the wall with your eyes closed, coming in splatters of white between your body and his.

You remember this, if only because no one else will.


	2. you’re leaving, he’s already gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stacker/Herc. Set in the months following Onibaba.

When he kisses you, you are reminded of both of your mortality in ways strapping into a war machine the size of a skyscraper no longer does. He isn’t bleeding but you know there’s radiation poisoning him from the inside out. And if you aren’t already buried in some parts of the Pacific with Lucky a coffin around you, then you know you will be there to watch Stacks die.

He’s dripping wet, and you aren’t faring much better with the water still falling overhead.

The shower stall is filling up with steam, and his hands are big when he wraps around you both. He sets a slow pace that have you going out of your head with every stroke upwards, his thumb rubbing against the head of your cock, his mouth murmuring apologies even when you can see that he isn’t sorry at all. Not for this, not as he drives you to the edge, and kisses you until your heart isn’t beating out of your chest.

He does this until you aren’t sure if the water’s still hot or that is just the heat that builds and builds with nowhere to go but up. And then he kisses you still.

You want to get down on your knees for this man, but he doesn’t ease his grip.

With you panting into his mouth, you think you can fall in love just like this.

You don’t imagine that as anything but the truth when you are both spilling over his hand. The water doesn’t wash it all away, and where it doesn’t, he brings his hand to your mouth and you suck his fingers down to the knuckles. 

He is a good, good man, and you don’t doubt that you will follow him even if he never asks that of you.

You open your eyes beneath the spray, and you see him watching you. You don’t have the privilege of a drift between the two of you but you have always figured that you don’t want to decipher what he sees in you. Perhaps, just that you aren’t so bad yourself given your track record, and what's to come.

Your mouth is hot where the water is slowly growing colder around you both, but you register that his hands are warm when he shuts off the water and wraps you in a towel. You ought to be the one taking care of him, what with Tamsin still in medical, and him dripping blood from his nose when he thinks you don't see, but you realize that this is what he needs from you.

You keep this in mind, you also keep this to heart for all those remaining days ahead of you both.


	3. you’re in the past, they’re the bright, bright future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raleigh/Yancy/Herc. Set in Manila, 2019. 
> 
> (Dedicated to [SublimeDiscordance](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SublimeDiscordance) because if there's one thing I know, this is totally one of his jam, keyword being one.)

You understand what it means to have a brother, what it means to be one, perhaps, better than anyone else in the Corps. And you can say this with a kind of certainty, because this, this is the last time you will pilot with yours. Lucky Seven is being prepared for Oblivion Bay, and Striker Eureka’s first run will be Scott’s last drift. But all that goes out of your head when you see them, dragging their tongues across their bottom lips.

One following the other, 02 after 01, like they are still connected through the drift. And these are sweet boys, asking at every turn for permission, _sir_ , like ranks matter at all when every single one of you are Ranger-ready, already with kills on your belts marking deep against bone.

They strip you out of your clothes, Yancy pulling your shirt over your head, Raleigh undoing the button of your pants, his hands trailing across the skin above the waistband, fingertips trailing after heat.

You kiss him just for that, and he makes a noise.

His brother laughs, soft and lovely, and murmurs something low that has the younger of the Beckets going red all the way to his ears. You give him another one, and he surges forward, eager and careful even with his teeth nipping.

You are fitted between them, Yancy already seated completely inside of you, full and tight, and it makes you ache. It also makes you reach out to slick Raleigh up yourself when he tries to ask again. You keep him close with a hand in his all American blond hair, and his brother keeps you still with his fingers on your knee, spreading you wider when Raleigh pushes into you. You trust them with your life, you trust them with the world, and what is this if not a fraction of that?

They have you between the press of their bodies, and you have them both buried to the hilt inside of you. And you think you leave indents in their skin in the shape of your nails when they begin to move in earnest, in tandem where every thrust has you seeing stars.

Where every gasp resounding in the room is like the fireworks lighting up the sky of Manila just outside.

Yancy wraps his hand around you, as though the stretch of them isn’t enough to get you off. The angle doesn’t work until Raleigh follows, half a second behind his brother, and puts his hand on you as well.

There is him kissing your shoulder, there is him grunting into your open mouth, and then there is the two of them with their fingers tangled around your girth, grip perfect and tight.

Six years into the Kaiju War, you’re finally reminded of living, instead of surviving.


	4. you're not lost, he's still found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tendo/Herc. Set after the closing of the Alaska Shatterdome.

You have changed out of your dress blues, and him out of his formal PPDC uniform.

The Ice Box is colder than you remember, and with Tendo sitting at the edge of the bunk, you realize that you often forget he is civilian before the formation of the Corps. And his question in LOCCENT, with the screens going black, have you clenching your hands into fists at your side. It’s the sense of helplessness, you see. What you are used to is not politics, you are used to fighting tooth-and-nail to keep your Jaeger’s heels grounded into the ocean bed so you won’t be taken by the waves.

What you are used to is keeping hurricanes at bay.

He greets you with a grimace for a smile, and you note the tired lines around his eyes, the sadness in them, and how it all reflects in yours.

You ease down on your knees and the concrete floors are cold but you need the shock that runs through you. You don’t tell him that things will be alright, and he gives you the same courtesy. When he runs a hand across your jaw, tilts your head up, fingertips feeling the smooth shave, there’s heat slowly coming back into his eyes, and that warms you too.

He gives you a helping hand, popping the button at the top of his pants open while you drag the zipper all the way down. He’s an easy man to be with, if only because he isn’t looking for more. You’re an easy man to be with, if only because love means a very different thing to you.

He is not entirely hard when you wet your mouth with your tongue, but he is getting there when you open up and take him in without warning. It’s been a while, and you are slow as you ease down.

Distantly, you feel his hand across your jaw, fingertips following that curve down to your throat. Him murmuring encouragements that you can only half-hear above you. Everything else just white noise and the simple motions as you take him deeper and deeper, working your mouth around his length, feeling him getting harder inside the wet, hot heat of your mouth.

You are breathing through your nose, one hand clenching into the thin sheets at his hip, the other resting against his knee as you urge him to fuck your mouth. He is careful and gentle, his fingers sweeping across your collarbones until they come back to your throat as he does.

When he comes, he comes in your mouth, and not without warning either. But you don’t pull away even when he does, a soft gasp of your name taken apart between his teeth.

He asks that you come up on the bed, hand still against your throat, tilting you up before he is kissing the taste from your mouth. You push your tongue against his, a sigh shared and he opens up, eager in dragging you down on the bed with him.

You oblige, here, where there’s heat between the sheets, his hand moving beneath your clothes. Here, where you can forget that the rest of the world has just about given up hope.


	5. you’re one man, and he’s flesh and blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chuck/Herc. Set after Mutavore.

You want to give him everything, but he doesn’t take a thing.

The room you have here in the Hong Kong Shatterdome is dark, the moisture in the air that gets sucked into your lungs is cold and settles down heavy. Even with half a decade of drifts between the two of you, he doesn’t give you the satisfaction of seeing just what he feels about you. And what he feels about you is twisted in the R.A.B.I.T.s neither one of you know how to chase, not anymore, not with the both of you rooted in place every time you enter that shared headspace.

Chuck calls you dad in the confines of the room, and it’s jarring when he leaves you wondering where you went so wrong. That this is the only method you know how when it comes to love and giving your son just that.

With shadows thrown across the entire bed, you are content with yourself to be tactile with him. Your nose bumps against his cheek before you find his mouth, but you kiss him, and he kisses you back, his hands finding skin. You fit him like a glove when he takes a seat at the edge of the bed and you follow into his lap. You keep him in place, straddling him, and it’s all temporary because he always leaves. Chuck never stays in your bed longer than he has to. Even when you shared a room in Sydney, he will always go back to his own bunk, leaving you with damp sheets, cum and lube still wet between your thighs.

Your ribs ache, and his in phantom pain from where you took the brunt of Mutavore’s hits, your experience just barely enough to override his control on the right. And it’s not an apology when he traces his fingers down, because he is still angry at you for doing exactly that.

It’s not forgiveness when he doesn’t press you right where it hurts, it is a simple acknowledgement that this is just what a parent does for their child. And this is another thing that is twisted inside the drift you share.

He pulls away, just enough so you can strip off the rest of your clothes. You pull away if just so he can push the waistband of his pants and briefs low enough to free his cock.

You slick him up, one hand wrapping around the base, dragging up, the other bracing against his shoulders when you settle back down. You don’t need the kind of prep you probably should have when you guide him to your entrance.

You don’t need much of anything when you slowly sink down.

Your fingertips dig into his shoulder, his hand curving over the small of your back. You raise your hips, the drag and burn, the stretch of him as your ass scrapes down against the zipper. Leaning forward, you press him back against the bed, your knees digging deeper into the thin mattress as he bottoms out inside of you.

You don’t call him son, your voice catching somewhere inside your chest, so he calls you dad.

And he keeps a loose hand around your wrist when you support yourself with a palm splayed across his chest, watches you as you move with the shadows playing across your skin in the dark.

The only light is from underneath the door of the bathroom, and as you climax, you splatter white across your stomach. And him, spent in you, a mantra of what you are to him still on the flat of his tongue.

You want to give him everything, but what he wants is to prove that he’s your son. That the decision you made is not the wrong one. He leaves you to do just that, and that’s the thing. He leaves you.

And you, you never do tell him that he’s your everything.

 

XXX Kuro

**Author's Note:**

> This is how you know he is my fave.


End file.
